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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196097">You're Safe Now</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomasBogs/pseuds/ThomasBogs'>ThomasBogs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Angst, Autism, Autistic Character, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Extremely Dad Bob Belcher, Family, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LGBTQ Character, Mental Health Issues, Might be good, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Insert, Trans Character, i'm pretty rusty so don't judge, might be bad, this is entirely just me shamelessly writing what makes me feel good</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:47:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomasBogs/pseuds/ThomasBogs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob Belcher is a family man, and we all know it. So what if the author, who has never had much of a good family and is currently experiencing mental illness related to that and Big Feels about how sweet the Belcher family is, created a shameless self-insert as a way of experiencing familial love?</p><p>This fic happens. </p><p>Basically, the Belcher family grows by one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bob Belcher/Linda Belcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bob was driving home, getting antsy in his only suit. God, he hated jury duty. A whole day away from the restaurant, needing to look formal… not to mention it lasted all day. It was already eight o’clock in the evening, he should’ve been home for dinner two hours ago. He huffed, slightly annoyed at missing the time with his family. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But most of all, he hated how brutal it could be. Definitely, the brutality was the worst part. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>God, she was just some random teenager, really. At eighteen, what did she really know about life? She’d made a mistake, stole a car so that she could get to </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span> goddammit, and yet picked up a couple years in the state prison. Bob shuddered at the thought. He felt like he’d been the only one to see past her crime, and see </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Scared, young, and clearly repentant. She’d probably never had a good parent, someone she could really depend on...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The night was dark, clouds covering up the moon and stars, leaving only the sterile orange streetlights and warmly lit windows to provide any light. It was cold, and wet. It had been raining all day, and with October inching to a close, the rain was starting to freeze. The sound of driving cars was the only thing that kept Bob company. Even the sparse restaurants and shops were empty, leaving only their bored employees waiting until they could close.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The streets seemed more run down than usual. Bob knew this neighbourhood really wasn’t the greatest; often, he’d see homeless people dotting the streets, stray animals, garbage… the city never bothered much with the poorer parts of town. It was the kind of part where you’d hold your kids hand a little tighter, make sure not to drive too slowly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even years later, Bob couldn’t say why he pulled over that night. Maybe it was the thought of the girl he’d watched the rest of his jury sentence. Maybe it was the thought of his own kids, snug and safe in their own beds at home. Maybe it was the memory of his own disappointing childhood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he could say he would never regret it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Kid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The story gets rolling! We meet our fateful self-insert, and it's mostly just self-serving fluff. Hope y'all enjoy! I know I liked writing it :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He rolled into a red light, and casually gazed out the driver's side window. That’s when he saw him.</p>
<p>A somewhat scrawny kid, way underdressed for the weather. All he had was a windbreaker, and it looked completely soaked through. He was sitting against the brick wall of some rundown building, long foreclosed, completely alone. A dirty and overly full backpack sat beside him. Clearly, he was a runaway. Bob knew that was common in this neighbourhood too- a lot of parents took after Bob’s own dad. </p>
<p><em>Is he just going to stay on the street all night?, </em> he wondered. <em> He must have somewhere to go...</em></p>
<p>Concern washed over Bob, as he turned his attention back to the road. He could get sick! He could <em> die </em>! He looked back over to the kid. He seemed to be looking at nothing, eyes lost and disoriented, as his body shivered involuntarily. </p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck… I can’t just leave this kid here. </em>
</p>
<p>He steered over to the side of the road, parked his car (hoping a cop wouldn’t come by and ticket him for the no-parking sign), and walked over to the kid. As he got closer, he got a better look at him. Or her? Bob couldn’t really tell. He (they?) was older than Bob originally thought, definitely a teenager and not a child. His clothes were tattered, wet, and dirty. </p>
<p>“Hey, are you alright?”</p>
<p>No response. The wind howled, bringing another wave of rain. Cars rushed past, carrying anxious people ready for a night in, spraying water onto the sidewalk. Bob kneeled down next to him, cursing at how his knees felt at the tender age of forty-four.  </p>
<p>“Hey. Where are your parents?”</p>
<p>The kid looked over at him. He couldn’t have been much older than sixteen, seventeen at most. Baby-faced (extremely so)… yet aged somehow. He seemed worn out, and his eyes carried a deer-in-the-headlights look that was all too familiar to Bob. Dark shadows surrounded those eyes, and his cheekbones were far too pronounced to be healthy; he looked gaunt. Bob placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping not to scare him away. The dad in him was getting concerned. Who could just leave a kid out like this? What if something happened? What if someone much less good-natured than himself tried to, well, <em> take </em> him? He imagined his own children out on a night like this, how worried he would be. Christ, he had to do something… </p>
<p>“Are you okay?”</p>
<p>The kid nodded, with a blank look on his face. Bob was unsure if he was trying to put on a brave face, or whether he was in shock.</p>
<p>“Do you have a place to stay tonight?”</p>
<p>The kid shook his head. </p>
<p>“Here, c’mon, you’re coming home with me.”</p>
<p>Bob kicked himself. <em> How creepy do I have to be to come up to some random teenager on a dark street, and take them home </em> ? <em> For all he knows, I really </em> could <em> be some pimp. </em> For a second, he thought the kid was about to bolt too, and he could understand why. Then, he slowly rose to his feet and grabbed his backpack. The thought of sleeping on cold, wet concrete was far more unpleasant than the alternatives. Bob led the way to the car, and they got in and got back on the road. </p>
<p>“So, uh, what’s your name, kid?”</p>
<p>“Tom.”</p>
<p>“Alright, Tom. I’m Bob… I own Bob’s Burgers on Ocean Avenue? I- I swear I’m not trying to kidnap you. You just, I just have a few kids of my own, and I wouldn’t want them out on a night like this…” </p>
<p>Tom looked out the window, and ignored him yet again. He watched the passing street, and shivered. Bob looked over, and noticed a sheen of sweat on the kid, despite him having sat in the rain for hours. He felt a pang in his chest. <em> Poor kid… He looks like he’s gone through hell and back. </em> Bob’s paternal instincts were really kicking in, and damn, he <em> needed </em> to give this kid a place to stay. The kid <em> was </em> soaked, rainwater dripping from his hair, windbreaker uncomfortably damp. Worry turned his stomach, as again he imagined his own kids. In all honesty, he couldn’t stand to see any child in pain. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. </p>
<p>“What were you doin’ out on the streets so late?”</p>
<p>“Had to run away.”</p>
<p>Bob left the conversation at that, taking anxious looks over at Tom every few seconds, until they got home.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Lin! C’mere! I need to talk to you!”</p>
<p>The restaurant was dim, only illuminated by light coming from the door to the apartment overhead. Even still, when Bob looked over at Tom, he could see how miserable he looked. </p>
<p>“Linda!”</p>
<p>“What is it, Bobby? Where’s the fire?”</p>
<p>She came down the stairs, chuckling at her joke, and flicked the lights on. Surprise crossed her face, then her eyebrows furrowed in worry. </p>
<p>“Bobby? Who is this?”</p>
<p>“This is Tom. I… found him on the street. He doesn’t have anywhere to stay, Lin.”</p>
<p>He looked at his wife, eyes pleading. He had his hand on the boy’s back. Linda knew her husband well; he was a huge softie, especially for children. She thought of how lovingly he’d held their children as babies, how he still doted on them, even when they poked fun at him. She knew he’d do anything for any of his kids, even shave his moustache to give Tina her dream 13th birthday, or pretend to be a diehard Equisticle, and well… he couldn’t resist a stray. Whenever some horrible story of child abuse came across the news, she saw anger passing across his face like a storm cloud. The only thing that trumped his paternal instincts were his burger-flipping instincts. She smiled gently at her husband.</p>
<p>“Well come on then, let’s make up the couch for ya, hun.”</p>
<p>The trio walked up the creaky stairs to their apartment, where Tina, Louise and Gene were in their PJs. </p>
<p>“Woah, who is that Mom?” queried Gene.</p>
<p>“Yeah, they look… So high schooley,” Tina interjected.</p>
<p>“Is this our babysitter for the night? Are you and dad going out?” questioned Louise, already scheming.</p>
<p>“This is Tom, he’s going to be staying with us for a bit, and no we’re not going out, Louise so don’t even think about it. You three go to bed and give him some space! He’s had a long night!”<br/><br/>“But-”</p>
<p>“Mom!”</p>
<p>“Like that stray cat that one time?”</p>
<p>“Yes, like that stray cat! And no buts! Bed! Tom honey, you’re soaked, the bathroom’s the first door on the right, go take a nice hot shower and I’ll leave some of Bob’s PJs and some towels for you, okay? I’ll throw your clothes in the laundry.”</p>
<p>Boy, did Bob love his wife. </p>
<p>The family scrambled to do as they were told. The kids ran off to their bedrooms, though all three were just going to listen through their doors. Linda went off to grab the towels and pajamas. Tom went to shower, seeming thankful for the moment of peace. Bob went and grabbed linens and started making up the couch. It wasn’t the most comfortable. His own out-of-shape body protested whenever he and Linda fell asleep on it. </p>
<p>
  <em>Better than a cold city street though… Let me give him a couple extra pillows… And another blanket.</em>
</p>
<p>“Bobby, can we talk?”</p>
<p>He jolted as Linda startled him. She picked up one of the numerous pillows Bob had procured for their houseguest and started stuffing it into a pillow case. </p>
<p>“Yeah, Lin?”</p>
<p>“What are we gonna do with Tom?”</p>
<p>“I- Lin, we can’t just throw him out. I literally found him sitting in the streets, at night, god knows where his parents are, and you know all the creeps that could pick him up! He’s just a kid!”</p>
<p>Bob finished arranging the blankets on the couch. The living room was rather cozy, especially in the rain. Bob wondered if Tom would mind it as a bedroom, until they could figure out something more permanent. It smelled like home, and the grill, and the floorboards creaked comfortingly when they walked. </p>
<p>He looked over at his wife.</p>
<p>“I know, and I’m not saying we should. But we don’t know anything about him either, Bobby. We don’t know if his parents aren’t looking for him right now, or if-.”</p>
<p>“If his parents were worth anything, he wouldn’t be out on the streets, Lin. He needs a place to stay and we’re going to give him that.”</p>
<p>“I’m not saying we’re going to throw him out! I’m just saying that we need to find out more about him. What if he’s in serious trouble and someone’s out looking for him? We might need to get police involved. And we do need to figure out a better living situation- we can’t just make him sleep on the couch forever.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, I- I’m sorry. You’re right.”</p>
<p>All of a sudden, Linda yawned, and Bob saw how tired she really was. Bob, on the other hand, felt wired. </p>
<p>“How about you go to bed? We can talk about this tomorrow morning. Not like we could do anything now but let him sleep. I’ll hold the fort for the rest of the night.” </p>
<p>“Sounds good to me, Bobby…”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Do you want anything to eat, Tom?”</p>
<p>The kid sat on the couch, looking down at his own lap. He looked absolutely exhausted. The rest of the family had already gone to bed (well, Tina, Louise and Gene were listening through their bedroom doors), leaving only the pair in the living room.</p>
<p>No answer came to Bob’s question.</p>
<p>“C’mon, you must be starving, I’ll make you something to eat,” Bob said, as he got up and went over to the kitchen. He started on some mac n’ cheese- simple and filling. Tom followed him and sat down at the dining table. He seemed almost shell-shocked, like he couldn’t believe how he’d lucked out. He broke into a small fit of coughs.</p>
<p>Bob turned away from the pasta he was boiling to look at the kid.</p>
<p>
  <em>I gotta stop thinking of him as, “the kid”. I can’t imagine he appreciates it. He has a name.</em>
</p>
<p>“Hey, are you feeling alright?” Another wave of concern washed over Bob, erasing the previous thought. The kid, <em> goddammit </em>, seemed like he might keel over any second. </p>
<p>Tom looked positively wilted. He was awfully pale, and again, he looked sweaty despite it being chilly in the apartment. Bob shuffled over to him, and put his hand to his forehead.</p>
<p>“Jeez, kid, you’re burning up. Here, let me get you some Tylenol and you can eat and sleep, okay?”</p>
<p>Tom nodded. Bob fussed around the kitchen, getting food and medicine into the boy (he was alarmed at the fever he was running). A comfortable silence fell over the pair, as Tom let the older man take care of him without much protest, seemingly bewildered at his generosity. Bob wondered if he’d ever had someone fuss over him this way. He knew his own kids were used to it.</p>
<p>Really, Tom was quite relieved at this turn of events. He’d been sleeping on the streets for over a month, and Bob was… Well he was <em> comfortable </em>. His somewhat out-of-shape body, the messy hair, the moustache, it made him look warm. He had kind eyes. Tom couldn’t remember the last time he had met someone with kind eyes. </p>
<p>The rain got even stronger outside, with thunder and lightning starting to roll in. It was pouring, and Bob was grateful for his family’s home- and the fact that he could take this kid off the street. No matter how small their apartment was, or how much he and his family complained, he never felt more lucky. He shuddered at the thought of the kid, being out on the street, in this rain, in his flimsy little jacket, no food in his belly (considering how quickly he scarfed down the mac n’ cheese), no one paying much attention to him. </p>
<p>God, he was swimming in Bob’s pajamas. They were at least two sizes too big, and the pants were far too long for his short frame. When was the last time he had had a good meal? A bed? </p>
<p>
  <em>Speaking of bed...</em>
</p>
<p>Wordlessly, Bob led the kid back over to the living room. The boy crawled under the blankets, shivering. Bob came over and started fussing again. He tucked the blankets around the boy, took his temperature again, fluffed his pillow, got him a glass of water. </p>
<p>“So, uh. You mind if I stay a bit? I’d kinda like to talk, unless you just want to sleep, of course.”</p>
<p>Tom shook his head no. Bob sank down awkwardly on the edge of the couch. He wanted to reach out and comfort the kid, give him a hug or a pat on the head, something- but he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. The dad in him was again crying out, saying that something was off here and this kid needed to be taken care of. </p>
<p>“How old are you, kid?”</p>
<p>“Sixteen.”<br/><br/>“What were you doing out on the streets on your own like that?”</p>
<p>“My parents’re bad. I needed to get away.”</p>
<p>Bob frowned. This kid, well this kid seemed sweet. He had these big grey, puppy-dog eyes, and a head of short, thick, almost-curly blonde hair. He was skinny, <em> too </em> skinny, in an unhealthy way. Like he hadn’t had food to eat in months. He didn’t deserve that- though Bob didn’t think any kid did. His mind started racing at what could’ve happened to him, a yearning to protect him filled his chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck it. </em>
</p>
<p>He slid further into the couch, and pulled the boy’s head into his lap. He felt Tom tense, and then relax as he decided to accept the touch, and Bob started running his hand through the boy’s hair. </p>
<p>“Tell me if the touch gets too much, okay? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, so just tell me if you need anything- or, or don’t want anything you know. You’re safe here.”</p>
<p>The boy shuddered. And kept shuddering. Bob noticed he was crying, silently, holding his breath as if he were scared of making a noise. Christ, his heart hurt for the kid. He couldn’t imagine how scared the kid had been, how little love and care he must’ve had in his life. </p>
<p>“Hey, it’s okay.”</p>
<p>Bob pulled the kid up onto his lap, and pulled the kid to his chest, wrapping him in a hug. Again, he tensed and relaxed as he decided to accept the touch. The hug was warm, and Bob was soft. </p>
<p>“It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I just, I, I-, I don’t want to be a- a burden, I can go-,” he hyperventilated. The kid was starting to have a panic attack. <em> Again </em>, Bob felt a pang of sadness in his chest. How could a kid have gotten so little care in his life? How could he feel, after just a meal and a bed, a single stranger’s kindness, that he was already a burden? </p>
<p>The boy broke into a fit of coughs. Bob rubbed circles into his back, pressing a kiss to his temple.. </p>
<p>
  <em>I hope he didn’t catch pneumonia or something…</em>
</p>
<p>“Shhhhhh, it’s okay, you’re safe here. I’ve got you. Just breathe with me, c’mon, it’s okay. You’re not a burden, you don’t have to leave. We’re happy to have you, <em> I’m </em> happy to have you. I wouldn’t have taken you with me, if I weren’t.”</p>
<p>Bob did his best to keep his breathing deep and steady, hoping the kid would match it. Bob felt the boy burrow in closer to him, hiding his face in his shoulder. Sobs broke through, sounds finally being produced from his skinny ribcage. The older man squeezed him tighter, hoping to show the boy that all he wanted was for him to be okay.  </p>
<p>Again, his paternal instincts were in overdrive. This poor kid… </p>
<p>They sat there for a while, just like that, the boy crying and falling apart, and Bob holding him together. Eventually, the sobs started to die down, and his breath started to even out. </p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>It was barely a whisper, a feverish murmur from the tired, abused, lonely boy.</p>
<p>Bob shifted the two of them so they were laying down, with the boy still enveloped in a warm hug.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it, kid.”</p>
<p>Tom fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! This is my first time writing in honestly, a few years. I'm pretty rusty. Criticism and comments accepted, but please be kind.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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